Roundel Zone

The long-ago evening was wrought with loud words, a broken lamp, and an incredibly sobering statement: “Nikki, you’re a control freak.” Me, a control freak? Never! I’m mellow yellow, I’m like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty stream, I am the queen of go-with-the-flow.

I saw an interesting note today: This year, a majority of the airbags in cars are twenty years old (assuming they haven’t been detonated and replaced, that is). BMW offered a driver’s-side airbag as an option in the 7 Series in 1985, and passenger side bags in 1990.

I have finally come to the conclusion that the wrong people are having children. This may be a corollary to my theory that the wrong people have the money, because all of a sudden, ne’er-do-well teenagers are running around at the wheels of cars they have no business driving.
Like, say, a BMW M3.

I was once accused of being a bit like Daniel Day-Lewis. I didn’t get that at all, but I took it as a tremendous compliment: The man is a genius. Among his many achievements as an actor, he won an Oscar for his gut-wrenching portrayal of Irish writer Christy Brown, who was born with cerebral palsy—and misdiagnosed as mentally disabled for the first ten years of his life.

The famous line from Macbeth, “It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” has resonated in my life time and time again, and I always go back to it. A tale told by an idiot? We’ve all heard those before!